


The After

by theheadandthekin



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Introspection, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Relationship, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4025608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadandthekin/pseuds/theheadandthekin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Post-Tempus Fugit] Abbie and Crane attempt to sort through what's happened--and what it means for them. </p><p>(And that, as it turns out, has very little to do with a certain witch.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s okay,” Irving assured them, pushing his keys into Abbie’s hands. “In fact, I insist. Just bring it back tomorrow.”

“You sure you’re okay to drive, sis?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Jenny still looked skeptical, but didn’t want to further stress anyone out with an argument.

Crane stood silently, staring out the window of Irving’s living room. Abbie gave her sister a final squeeze and pulled her former boss into a hug.

“Take care, you two. Get some rest.” She laid a hand across Crane’s back, pausing before journeying down to reach for his hand. He pulled it away from her grasp, but swiveled his head to look down at her.

“Ready to hit the road?” She asked.

He nodded, still silent.

*****

Everything was thick—like a humid morning in June. Thick and silent. After Abbie told Crane she was going to hit McDonalds and stop at home for a change of clothes before heading out to the cabin, they didn’t speak to one another at all.

Crane had to know what happened in 1781, but she couldn’t add her burdens to his. Not yet. Tomorrow she’d tell Jenny, and tell Crane when he was ready. Talking never helped Abbie with processing anything— _doing_ did—so it wouldn’t be for her. Crane deserved the truth of what happened, deserved to know what she saw, what his past self had done—his own courage, the extent of Katrina’s evil-doing, how Abbie herself understood intimately what it meant to be out of time. 

But not yet.

*****

“Lieutenant, stop. Please. I don’t need to be coddled.”

“I’m not coddling you. I’m making you tea. But you know what? It can wait a few minutes. Why don’t you hop in the shower?”

Abbie really didn’t want him out of her sight, and she needed a shower herself, but she knew he needed to wash away the blood he was imagining on his hands. He kept wiping them on the front of his breeches.

The rest of his stillness made her wary. He was working very hard—too hard—to keep himself unmoved.

“I’m serious, Crane.”

“I am perfectly capable of caring for myself. You do not need to stay here.”

“What the hell?”

He looked her straight in the face, for the first time since they were at Irving’s house over an hour ago.

“You have done too much for me today already, far more than I will ever be able to repay. When I said earlier that we all had choices we made, I was not only referring to Katrina,” he said, his voice becoming just a bit thin and watery. “I was also referring to you. You took enormous risk in following her.”

Abbie wanted to say, _Well, we’re even,_ but it seemed terrible, callous. So she nodded, and pulled out one of the better memories of her time in the past.

“Hey, it was worth it to hear Benjamin Franklin call me the ‘American Dream.’”

He perked up just a touch at that tidbit. “Really? You met Franklin?”

“I did. And he was important to getting me back here. Even got to see the Kindred.”

“You must tell me.”

Curiosity sparked briefly in his eyes, and Abbie thought he’d pulled out of himself just enough to _do_ something. She wasn’t going to waste it on things they could discuss later.

“Go get a shower. I’ll take one after you. Then we can watch something really stupid on Netflix.”

She didn’t tell him she’d been wearing the same clothes for over 36 hours, that she felt nasty and probably smelled worse. She could always handle it. Handle herself.

So often Crane’s negative emotions were displayed through a broad, almost theatrical, contempt. If he were upset, he’d complain. Only once before had she seen him quite like this, when Henry was revealed as his son. But even then, she’d coaxed him into bitching about it.

This was different. Maybe they’d just need to get used to a lot of _not_ talking.

*****

After 25 minutes, Abbie became genuinely concerned. She heard the shower running, but no other signs of life from the bathroom.

She resolved to wait another 10 minutes. The hot water tank wasn’t that big.

*****

After 35 minutes, Abbie was banging on the bathroom door.

“Crane! You okay?”

No answer.

“Crane!” She shouted again. _Jesus._ She willed the panic rising in her breast to cease, tried to force rational thought through the spike of cortisol and adrenaline. _Everything is fine._

The doors in the cabin didn’t have locks, and for a moment, her hand hovered over the doorknob.

“Dammit, Ichabod! I’m coming in.”

She didn’t want to startle him, but she slammed the door open to announce her entry. She could make out his profile beyond the thin shower curtain, sitting in the bathtub.

“You were ignoring me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Abbie grabbed a towel off the rack and pushed it around the edge of the shower curtain. “Okay, let’s get you up out of the water and into something warm and dry. Yeah?”

“I prefer to stay here.”

She whipped the towel back into her hands and tossed it onto the vanity. _Stubborn._ Abbie would happily let him grieve, but this was _actually_ ridiculous. “No, you don’t. I swear to God you must have seen this on a telenovela or something, because this is _not you._ ”

“Oh? And what, pray tell, would be more in keeping with my character, Miss Mills?”

_Good. Get angry._

“You are a good man, Crane. And you are doing yourself no favors by sitting in cold ass water catching a chill. And we sure as hell are not doing a therapy session while I sit on the toilet seat and you play drowned rat.”

“Abbie,” he sighed, that brief spark of hope she’d felt at his momentary snarkiness fading with his returned resignation. “Just leave me be.”

“You know I can’t do that. Won’t do that.”

“It’s not what you think, and I am in no mood to discuss it.”

She understood grief, but she also understood self-destructive bullshit. And his was really starting to piss her off. An uncharitable thought passed through her mind, the image of the same man who had, only hours before, stood so stoically, wishing her goodbye with a nod, ready and willing to kill Katrina _then—_ a version of her fellow Witness she could not imagine whining in a damn bathtub.

“Crane, turn the water off and get the hell up.”

He at least did as she bade with the water, and she took that action as her cue to exit. She would not treat him like a child, and if he wanted to be moody, he could be moody, however disappointing it was to her. However much _she_ needed _him._ Abbie’s hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again:

“I don’t feel guilty for stabbing her. She was as a demon. It is, as your generation would say, _fucked up_ , but I have no remorse and would gladly do it again.”

The shower curtain rustled open, and Abbie kept her eyes fixed on an edge of tiny splinters on the doorframe, back to him. He didn’t sound done.

“All I can see is her choking you. Not the knife. Not the wound. Not the blood. Not her body. All I can see is some invisible force squeezing the life out of _you_ , the fear in your eyes, your impotence against her magic. So forgive me, Lieutenant.”

Oh, there was a hurt, sarcastic edge to his voice now. She picked at a splinter, waiting for the rest.

“Forgive me if I’m rather distraught at nearly losing _you_ twice in mere moments. _Thinking_ I had lost you. Forgive me for being afraid for you, as if my own heart had been torn from my breast, irretrievably gone.”

“Wasn’t like I could lose you, either,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

She flinched at his accusatory tone, sorry immediately for the sharpness with which she’d just been treating him.

“I said ….” Abbie cleared her throat, and started again, louder. “I said: it wasn’t like I could lose you, either. She went back to kill you. She would have. She _may_ have, in that timeline. I don’t know.”

For several long moments, the slow drips from the shower and faucet filled the silence.

“Lieutenant,” he said, his voice weary, soft, ragged.

Abbie huffed out a breath and blinked rapidly to keep the unbidden dampness on her lashes and off her cheeks. “Did you get a towel? I want to turn around, but I’m not gonna do it if you’re naked.”

“I’m decent.”

What she saw was not what she had been expecting. He looked raw and bedraggled, towel wrapped around his waist, eyes red and puffy.

“Shit.” It was all she could get out by way of apology.

And what felt like twenty feet with her back to him was, in reality, much closer to two. Crane reached easily across the small space. His hands were clammy, but when he pulled her toward him—against him—his chest was warm.

“Abbie,” he whispered against her hair, wrapping her impossibly tighter in his arms.

It was the most natural thing to do, to burrow into his embrace and gently, ever so gently, press her lips to his skin.

At the contact, his chest convulsed with a quiet sob.

“Stop,” she choked, ferociously trying to maintain her dignity, to not unload her own terror and fear and sadness. “I need to get a shower, too. You don’t want to know how long I’ve been wearing these clothes.”

“Of course.” He stepped back. “Of course.”

“I’ll be quick, I promise," she said, although those weren't the words bruising her heart. 


	2. Chapter 2

Abbie stared into the mirror, removing the last traces of makeup that hadn’t yet worn off her face. She looked like shit.

When things got tough, she had always been good at dissociating herself. Shielding Jenny from their mother’s episodes, letting strung-out guys she dated as a teenager smack her around, commanding uniforms in ugly situations, plowing through demons and horsemen, keeping her head on straight in Purgatory. What happened, happened: and then she soldiered on.

It was who she was.

And people filtered in and out—even her sister for so, so long—all except a very few. Like Corbin. And, now, Crane.

And she just kept surging forward.

She’d been fine—mostly—back in Crane’s original time, driven by simply being _unable_ to fail, the consequences too large, too horrifying, too _personal,_ to even accept it as a possibility.

They’d seen crazy, world-changing shit, but now, th—

“Lieutenant?”

Abbie shook it off, and stretched her jaw. “Yeah?”

“Are you done?” he called through the door.

“In a minute. What’s up?”

There was a hesitation, long enough to indicate he was thinking or unsure, before he finally spoke. “It is nothing. Would you like some tea?”

 *****

When she emerged from the bathroom, the cabin was bright with mid-day light.

Crane stood over the kettle waiting for it to boil, damp hair wound into a bun, a fairly recent thing Abbie’d noticed him doing, and in sweatpants and a t-shirt. This was as deep into the 21st century as he got. As much as he complained—and it was a lot—about modern attire, he had taken an enthusiastic shine to soft, fleecy cotton and had discovered the appeal of ‘lounge’ clothes.

Abbie settled herself on the arm of the couch, facing the kitchen, and quietly watched him.

“I am not a good man, despite your protestations that I am.” The kettle whistled, and he pulled it off the burner.

“What’s happened, all of it … look, it’s forgiven. We’re destined for this, right? God or whoever’ll make sure we can at least work together.”

He looked over at her and nodded, but didn’t look convinced in the slightest.

“Crane, we can’t continue to be at one another’s throats, rehashing, rehashing, and rehashing. We just—it’s not going to work. More is coming, we’ve survived so far—humanity’s survived so far—and we can’t dwell on what we’ve done wrong. Nobody’s prepared for this duty we’ve been saddled with.”

“This isn’t about our bond as Witnesses, Abbie.” He walked her mug over. “This is about _us._ ”

She took her tea and stared into the steam swirling on the surface. They were _not_ doing this right now. The weariness, the exhaustion, the confusion, everything, just washed over her; it was sudden, sharp. She wanted to sleep. To have a drink. To throw the mug on the ground and watch it shatter. To scream. To go outside and tear into the dirt like an animal. One old, long-buried part of her even wanted a hit.

She had to stay calm. For her. For _him_.

“There are times I’ve been so, _so_ angry,” Abbie said softly. “Angry at everyone, at God or whatever put me in this position, at you, for completing fucking up my life, at my mom for being crazy, at Corbin for lying to me for so long, at Jenny for being so much braver than I was. I understand all of it, but I have had to live with a lot of anger. I hope you get that.”

She didn’t dare voice her anger at his wife, whose stupid, reckless, evil actions she did _not_ understand. She’d didn’t dare voice the thought that skittered through her mind, that _she_ would have killed Katrina, that if Grace’s spell hadn’t worked, if she had lost everything, she would have strangled the witch with her bare hands.

“Go on,” he prodded.

“No. Look, it’s been a shitty fucking day already.”

He searched her face a long moment with a focus and intensity that showed little trace of his earlier distance and dullness. “Even now, I can take anything you unleash on me.”

“And you _also_ know that’s not how I work, Crane. I am not going to get upset in order to indulge whatever fucked up desire you have to be punished.”

He sighed, looking around the cabin, at a loss. “You misread my intentions. You are hurting, I don’t know why, and I have not the slightest idea what I should do.”

“So are you.”’

“Ah, but I was very clear to you about _why._ Not only have you kept to yourself what happened when you followed Katrina, you haven’t even told me _when_ you went.”

***** 

Over cooling tea, they sat across from one another at the table and Abbie gave him the barest timeline of events.

He let her speak without interruptions, although she caught each question as it flit across his features. But he allowed her space to spin the narrative she wanted; it was so rare for her to tell long stories.

Of course, she was telling the one person who could understand any of it. And if it was rare that she was divulging so much, it was maybe even rarer that he listened so patiently.

“Okay, you obviously have questions. Out with them. Yes, everyone stunk, by the way.”

“Were you afraid?”

“ _Crane._ ”

“Abbie.” He reached across the table and plucked her hand from her mug, holding it in his own. “You can share with me anything. Let me carry the burden with you.”

She echoed the words she’d told a different version of him, “I didn’t stop to think if it was a one-way ticket. I followed her with a motive, not a plan. And I did _not_ want to die in 1781.”

“And yet you think your fear is a luxury.”

“No, it’s a distraction.” He started messing with her fingers in a way that _was_ a distraction, and she balled her hand into a fist under his. “The second it becomes anxiety, that’s it. Game over.”

“Why are you afraid now of even admitting you were afraid?”

“Crane, I have lived through _trauma._ Things you don’t even know about. Wouldn’t want to know about, you know? Drop it.”

Thankfully, he did, but set to work at prying her fingers back apart.

“Did I hurt you, in any way?”

“No. It just ….” She closed her eyes and puffed out a long breath. “It hurt that you didn’t know me. I knew rationally you wouldn’t, couldn’t, but it was tough to be faced with a you who wasn’t you, someone who didn’t trust me. Not that you always do now, but mostly.”

“I would have not been kind to a suspected spy, a prisoner, a young Neg—”

“ _Black_.”

“ _Black_ female in trousers, of all things. Who apparently pushed that other me into desertion. No, I imagine I would be rather unhappy.”

“I understood the stakes for you, Crane. Awful? Yeah. But you were in the middle of fighting a war. Been on that end of things, remember? Look, you didn’t treat me cruelly. In fact, you … you were _good._ ” She smiled. _“_ I understand you more now, too. Captain.”

“Oh?”

She hadn’t thought about it until then, thought about how Franklin had sent him out of the room like a child or a servant—how much of that he must have experienced, from all of them, including his wife, the people he admired, friends, that he only realized now, in her world.

_Then_ she’d come along, an artifact of the future, desperate with the truth, and exposed the lies spun so carefully around him in the most unnatural way. She sure as fuck had her own problems with trust and destiny, but he did, too. Then and now.

Abbie tucked that revelation away and simply nodded, softly humming an affirmation.

She wasn’t sure what made his eyes bright again with unshed tears, but he tugged on her hand. “Come.”

 *****

They settled onto the couch, lapsing back into silence.

Crane had pulled a beat-up paperback copy of _Rabbit, Run_ —a choice Abbie didn’t even want to begin to comment on—off of Corbin’s bookshelf. She’d located Franklin’s autobiography, much to the apparent curiosity of her fellow Witness.

She shifted around until she was leaning half against his side and half against the back of the couch and let Franklin’s voice ring through her head.

About ten pages in, she drifted off.

***** 

He awakened her by plucking the thin book from her hands.

“Let us get you in a more comfortable position” was all he said as he maneuvered her down onto the cushions and stretched out behind her, wrapping an arm just a little too tightly around her ribcage.

“Crane ….”

His beard caught in her hair when he kissed the crown of her head.

She was too exhausted to protest further. Dwarfed in his embrace, they were beyond words, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cabin's got one more room, right?


	3. Chapter 3

The sensation of being squeezed, _trapped,_ pulled Abbie from slumber in a swirling panic. She wriggled against the heat and the weight surrounding her, smothering her.

The weight grunted softly.

_Crane._

Not in her bed, but not in a cell either. Not on the wet ground, spitting out leaves and dirt. On the familiar musty sofa, in Corbin’s cabin. In the right—well, the unaltered—future. Probably; hopefully.

She was curled toward her partner, face pressed against his chest. Despite how slender he was, and despite her own small size, the cushions was too narrow for two people to sleep in any way that allowed them to maintain personal space. Her legs entwined with his and— _oh, God—_ he was hard against her hip.

No big deal, Abbie told herself. He probably thought she was Katrina—who was, as far as Abbie knew, the last person to share his bed—and was dreaming about happier times. Natural, physiological reaction. With the day they were having, he could have whatever fantasies he wanted, and they could be adults about it.

Still, it wasn’t the most comfortable situation to find herself in.

Judging by the light, several hours had passed since they’d sat down to read. The aftershocks of her panic at waking evolved rapidly to restlessness. Needing to gain some physical distance _now_ , she pushed hard against him.

“Abbie,” he breathed, voice rough with sleep.

“I should get up. This couch isn’t doing my back any favors.”

He sighed and adjusted his arms so he could press her even closer.

“Crane, seriously,” she said, sounding too harsh and loud in the quiet. It wasn’t the worst thing, cuddling on the sofa with Crane, soft and calm with the foggy tendrils of sleep. But the way she fit against him made her not want to lay awake, pondering that very fact, while he stroked her back. “Let me up. Then you can get back to your nap.”

She wasn’t sure _how_ awake he was, but his grip on her loosened and she pulled out of his embrace.

Sitting up, she fished her phone off the floor; it was almost 5PM. They’d been asleep longer than she thought. She stole another glance down at her partner, assuring herself he was still caught in slumber. He looked peaceful and untroubled, the creases between his brows smooth, his lips parted just a hair.

With a deep breath, she hopped up to relieve—or just run away from?—the fluttering unease in her stomach.

* * *

“Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“He’s asleep.” She looked in through the window to confirm Crane was where she left him. After she’d checked the refrigerator to find a nasty moldering meat loaf and indulged in a few additional angry thoughts about Katrina, Abbie had made her way onto the porch to call her sister.

“You doing okay?”

She worked a nail in the railing loose for a few seconds before answering. “Yeah.”

“Maybe you can lie to him, but you can’t lie to me.”

She sighed. No bullshit from Jenny. “It’s just weird. I don’t know, I guess he’s handling it pretty—”

“Abbie. I asked about _you,_ not about Crane.”

Talking about her feelings once today had been bad enough. “It’s been a tough couple of days. I’m not ready to talk about it all yet. You know?”

To Abbie’s relief, her sister let it go and shifted the topic of conversation, hestitant to let Abbie off the line just yet. “So, he really stabbed her? On purpose?”

“Seems like.”

“Well, _I’m_ glad he did. I would have been pretty fucking pissed off if he chose that crazy bitch over you. You don’t even want to imagine how I would have made them pay. Think slowly and painfully.”

“Thanks for being willing to avenge my hypothetical death.”

Jenny laughed. “That’s what sisters are for. You know I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he hurt you, right?”

Her tone was light, joking, but Abbie knew the sentiment was entirely serious. She thought back to Crane's promise: _victorious or defeated together._ “Jenny, don’t. Don’t. I’ve had enough violence to last a long damn time.”

“Sorry, Abs. Hey, I hope we get a break. Maybe the Apocalypse will quiet down for a while. We all need a rest, and even evil needs to take a vacation once in a while.”

“I’m not counting on it.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to have some optimism. Despite all of this shit, we’ve had so many blessings. Frank’s back, Henry and Katrina are dealt with. You met our _ancestor._ ” Jenny paused. “I have you again.”

_Oh, God. I am not going to cry._

“All I ever wanted was my big sister back. And I want you to be happy, Abbie. You don’t … we can bear the burden with you. You don’t have to be everyone’s rock all the time.”

Early evening sun sparkled off the pond, bouncing dappled light into the trees. She covered the receiver so Jenny wouldn’t hear her sniffle—or swallow down the vibrations in the back of her throat that threatened to become a sob.

“I love you, Abbie. I’m _always_ here if you need me.”

She nodded mutely, unable to form a level response.

“I swear to God, you are going to make me cry, too.”

_No bullshit._ Abbie let a watery laugh escape and moved her hand off the microphone. “Serves you right. Making me all weepy.”

“You’re human. Stop being ashamed of having feelings. Real ones. Let the people who love you, love you. We _know_ you can handle yourself. You sure as shit don’t need to prove it.”

It wasn’t lost on Abbie that Jenny—her resilient, incautious, forgiving, utterly determined, and fucking badass little sister—was the wiser of the two of them. Not for the first time, she wondered why the hell Jenny wasn’t the Witness.

Scrubbing at her face with her free hand, she finally hummed in agreement. Some things didn’t need to become an argument, but her sister could analyze her later. “I should get going. I’m still exhausted, and we need to figure out dinner and sleeping arrangements. Katrina left rotting meat in the fridge, and it is _disgusting._ I assume there is some box mac and cheese around.”

“That fucking c—” Jenny cut herself off. “You know, she isn’t even worth the name-calling. _Anyway_ , the solutions to your problems are easy: order Domino’s and share the bed.”

“And here I was just thinking about how _wise_ you are.”

Jenny scoffed, but Abbie could hear the smile behind it. “I am giving you sound fucking advice and you know it.”

She rolled her eyes; ordering pizza wasn’t the worst idea. And hadn’t she just slept with Crane on the couch? Her sister was too damn perceptive. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“Anytime, sis,” Jenny said, with just a gentle trace of mocking.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow, I promise. Seriously. I promise. Love you.”

"Don't shut him out."

* * *

Abbie stared out across the yard and toward the water for a long time. As the sun sunk lower, the air took on a chill. The pizza was due to arrive soon, and she was loath to go back into the cabin to get a sweatshirt and risk waking Crane.

The screen door creaked; he’d beaten her to the punch.

“It’s a nice evening.”

“You’re awake,” she replied. _Obviously._ Maybe she was more exhausted than she thought.

“Your powers of deduction are as extraordinary as always, Lieutenant,” he quipped, moving to stand beside her. “I have brought you a blanket, as I didn’t want you to catch a chill.”

She was reminded of her own words of concern for him earlier, but couldn’t find any anger or impatience to direct at his unnecessary concern. “Thanks.”

Carefully unfolding the blanket, he gave it a hard shake and brought it down around her shoulders. His hands followed the fold to the front of her chest, and he held it fast around her, engulfing her from behind.

She reached up and placed her hands over his. “I ordered pizza. Figured you would be hungry.”

He remained silent.

“You okay?”

Resting his chin lightly on top of her head, pulling her flush against him, he murmured, “For now.”

They remained standing like that until the kid delivering their pizza pulled into the parking strip, several long, strange--but not uncomfortable--minutes later.

Unlike before, Abbie found herself not wanting him to let go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter because our action comes to a natural break ... ahem.

Abbie stuffed the pizza box into a new trash bag. "At least we don't have to worry about dishes."

He crossed into the small kitchen, watching her carefully. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"You know I'm not going to let you starve, Crane."

"No, thank you for the pizza, of course, but that wasn't what I meant." His next words came out heavy, loaded. "I intended to thank you for saving me, for staying with me. I regret my earlier demeanor, and I’m sorry for pressing you on your travel back to my time. You have been exceedingly patient.”

She regarded him with a soft smile teasing the corners of her lips. God, was she easy.

“I’ll tell you more when we’re both ready, yeah?”

He nodded. “Are you going to go home?”

“Thought I’d stick around here tonight. That okay with you? Didn’t want you to be alone ….”

His eyes shifted nervously toward the bedroom.

"I'll take the couch, no worries."

He touched her elbow, lightly, unthreateningly. "No. You will not. I realize, Lieutenant, that this is an unseemly request, but I would be greatly comforted if you were to stay with me."

Objectively, this was stupid and reckless, but the past few days had numbed her to risk. And something about doing something deliberate like this—not like falling asleep together on the sofa, exhausted, but _choosing_ to do something so wildly intimate—was kind of comforting.

Still, for Abbie, caution always came first. She looked down at his fingers, still gently resting on her arm. Noting her hesitation and interpreting it as discomfort and refusal, he dropped his hand and backpeddled immediately—literally taking a step away from her.

“I have overstepped my bounds. I’m still not thinking clearly. Please, if you wish to stay, I will sleep in here.”

 _Forward._ The word pounded out in her head over and over, a mantra timed to her heartbeat.

"I simply must know you are safe."

"Fuck it," she breathed, hoping he wouldn't catch it, and not knowing really what else to say. She closed the distance between then, laying a hand on his chest. Flesh and bone— _his_ flesh and bone—pulsed beneath the pads of her fingers. The sudden sense of his solidity, his height, his warmth, was almost overwhelming.

They could call it reassurance. But, she was sure, as she turned her face up to look at him, whatever they were doing had only one, inevitable conclusion.

Their timing was disastrous, but he plainly needed her. And she needed him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't always write angst, but when I do ...
> 
> Could be canon compliant, at least with what we know so far about Season 3. Rating will change for Chapter 5.


End file.
